


It's Now or Never

by PeanutsRomano



Category: Bully (Video Games)
Genre: Autumn, Bikers, F/M, Greasers, Leather Jackets, Love, One Shot, Race, Rain, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 06:51:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19824790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeanutsRomano/pseuds/PeanutsRomano





	It's Now or Never

_FOR AN AUTUMN DAY_ i _IN BULLWORTH,_ it had made the metropolitan more gloomy than it had been. A night sky brews a sunset orange with the indigo carpet to loom over the citizens, an overlay of gray clouds that are smoke like assembles itself into the blend. A deceitful witch cackles her thunderous roar, and with a spin of her finger lightning clashes through the sky. Immensely, rain drenches the entirety of the town where hairs atop people's heads make them resemble walking house mops. Puddles of foliage look like soggy fruity pebbles over the streets, refusing to move away from the ground. The damp leaves, the color of smashed pumpkins and cinnamon mud, is attached to the ground. There was no chance of dancing leaves for the forecast today. 

A young man suited in a leather jacket is a soaked maple leaf irritably trolling down the murky streets. His precious pompade has been penetrated by the rain, currently his hair originating back to it's somewhat emo sponge of hair. Surfing down the waves of his body, he sighs in defeat as he ingests his look. Of course, on a planned day like this, the moisture from the rain just had to absorb his clothes. He was awful, there was no way he could show up looking like this!

"Dammit!" He cursed, snapping his gaze to the sky. Obnoxiously chortling, the wicked storm tossed at him heedlessly another lightning bolt his way. It had replaced the position of being his tormentor, no longer some spoiled little rich kid. 

He debated internally if it was worth going, with him showing up as a sewer rat. The earthly composure of rain and leaves immerses inside of him, drifting himself away from the balance of the world. Contentment is discovered thanks to this sudden arousal of petrichor. Synaesthesia creeps in, as this sensation he didn't identify with before. This awakening emerges, and as the rain leisurely calms itself, he is at ease. The night remains somber, but the thunder and lightning champions surrendered it's victory of clashing together.

Gaping at him directly, screaming at him to pivot his attention to it is a poster bleeding of sunshine yellow that the sky gradually merges into it. Embellished over is an attractive bmx bike that appeared more polished than his own, imprinted as the enormous center of attraction. Boldly it claimed that there was a bike competition arriving on November 15th.

This Friday.

The man squinting, narrowing the words as if he was reading it right. Clarifying every detail, scrupling out the fragment of each word. A prize of $500 was offered to the winner of the race. And of course, it just happened to be hosted by the people who were his arch rivals. Those Aquaberry trendsetters, egocentric rich scum, somehow screwing it into their heads that they were modest. Truth be told, they were immodest for gloating about how they were better because of their economical status. Frequently, it was common for him and his friends to pick fights with them. The rumbles, is what they were called, spewed simply from their lucrative differences. His resentment towards the preppies rooted from the abysmal seed of their constant boasts, from the mockeries of his fashion, the stains on his clothes, and bitter remarks of what he could scrounge up to afford. Worst of all, how they laughed so humorously, seeing him and his friends struggle and stare down the barrel of being homeless then use their money to aide them. The fellow students of the school. 

He gaped at the poster, scoffing. This was all some scam to fork over their feud more hostile than it was. To instigate the battle of the tigers and lions as a chance to get him and his buddies a time in the cooler while they lolloped to their fancy picket fences and pristine castles of mansions to live the charming happily ever lives of luxury. The fortune, that they didn't deliver a single ounce of sweat for what they earned. Everything was handed to those trust fund fairies like babies with lollipops. 

But at the initial time, he considered it. Maybe lasso some of the others and humiliate the preppies in the bike race. After all, as intricate and tiny it embroidered on the poster, _anybody_ was welcome to participate. 

No exceptions. 

Heedless of it being possible vandalism, he removed the poster off the wall, lashing out it's cat hiss for being untangled from it's brick bed. He curled it into a scroll, grateful that the rain had ceased and the sunlight achieved victory for him to win the art of luck. Like the lightning, he bolted to his new designation. A voice was lodged into his brain, the female attraction that tried to lure him back to his old resort. Not yet.

It's now or never. 


End file.
